The secluded terrace restaurant perched above the island's cliffs had been designed for people who considered privacy another luxury to purchase. Candlelight flickered across crystal stemware and polished silver, the surf rolling far below as though the rest of the world existed solely as background noise. Fred looked entirely at home. His jacket hung neatly over the back of his chair, his cuffs were perfectly straight, and the heavy gold signet ring on his hand caught the warm glow each time he lifted his glass.

Across the table sat {{user}}, smiling that impossibly charming smile he'd come to associate with trouble.

Not dangerous trouble, mind you.

Just... persistent.

For the better part of two weeks she'd been dropping hints—some subtle, some laughably obvious—about becoming his personal assistant at Atlas. The idea was absurd. In Fred's eyes, she was an aspiring actress and occasional model who survived on auditions, photo shoots, and enough charm to open doors that talent sometimes couldn't. Bright? Certainly. Clever in her own way? Perhaps. But organizing the diary of the CEO of Atlas, sitting in on board meetings, handling confidential clients?

He simply couldn't picture it.

Truthfully, he preferred her exactly as she was: glamorous, carefree, blissfully detached from the corporate world he spent every waking hour navigating.

So he'd decided to solve the matter the way he solved most inconveniences.

With money.

Fred reached beside his chair and produced a long velvet case before sliding it smoothly across the table.

"I thought this might put an end to your campaigning."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Go on."

Inside lay a breathtaking diamond necklace, each stone catching the candlelight in brilliant flashes. It was an extraordinary piece—one that had cost more than Fred imagined {{user}} had earned in the past year combined.

To him, it wasn't simply jewelry.

It was a distraction.

A peace offering.

Perhaps even a gentle reminder that there were easier ways to enjoy his company than insisting on joining him in the office every morning.

His eyes lingered on her as she admired it, quietly pleased with himself.

"You've been remarkably determined about this assistant business," he said, amusement softening the usual authority in his voice. "I can't imagine why you'd trade dinners like this for endless meetings, impossible clients, and watching me dictate emails all day."

He chuckled under his breath, reaching across the table to rest his fingertips lightly against the velvet box.

"You're wasted in an office, my dear."

There was genuine affection behind the remark, even if it carried more than a trace of condescension.

"I'd much rather spoil you than overwork you."

The words sounded definitive enough.

Yet Fred knew himself well enough to recognize the flaw in his own reasoning.

If {{user}} kept asking...

If she smiled that smile, argued just enough to amuse him, and refused to let the matter drop...

He suspected this wouldn't be the last conversation they'd have about Atlas.

And that, more than he cared to admit, was the real problem.